The President and the Governor
by ragnaroktopus
Summary: Obamney. Robama. Robamamney. The romance that tore a nation in two. Barack Obama and Mitt Romney encounter each other after the first presidential debate, in the wake of their clashing ideological passions.


A senior aide fell in stride next to the president, a plastic water bottle outstretched. "Well done, sir."

A corner of the man's lip curled for the briefest moment. The aide looked on, hand hanging in the air, as they continued striding down the backstage hallways of the auditorium. No reply was given.

Immediately following the end of the debate, President Barack Obama had promptly shaken Governor Romney's hand, and departed in the wake of his secret service agents, to the receding sounds of the crowd. Each footstep became more distinguished, rhythmic clicks on the floor, as they withdrew toward a quieter place. His silence then, became more readily apparent. He cleared his throat, a strained sound against the expectant hush of his entourage, and took the bottle. His mouth stretched in a small smile. "It could've gone better."

The aide kept pace for a few more steps. When no elaboration was given, and it appeared that none was coming, he drew back, wordlessly, and allowed the remaining agents to make their way past him.

President Obama continued on the heels of his bodyguards, brow creased, until the men in front of him slowed to a tentative gait. He raised his eyes just as the path in front of him reluctantly cleared, and a figure appeared a few steps ahead.

"Ah, Mr. President."

"Governor."

The man stood tall before him, the same unrelenting air of confidence which had set the president's own mannerisms in stark contrast. The latter shifted to stand squarely facing the other, temples pulsing to the slightest degree.

"I just wanted to thank you again for the excellent debate, Mr. President," Governor Romney began. "I think more than a few Americans may have made up their minds tonight."

President Obama laughed lightly, more indulgent than derisive, and relaxed his posture. The condescension put him at ease, it was familiar, as he had combated it just minutes prior. "Don't get ahead of yourself, we've got two more to go."

The governor gave a small shrug, and returned with his previous, dry tone. "Well, I'm looking forward to it. Good luck, as always."

He offered out a hand to the president, who replied in kind, and took the hand in his own.

Governor Romney's fingers curled into the curve of the president's hand, and the tips tingled against his palm.

President Obama withdrew his hand quickly, confusion flitting across his eyes, expression promptly subdued, yet it was enough for one of the agents to notice that something had disturbed him.

"Sir, do we have a problem?" the man asked. The president met the governor's gaze in perplexed silence, finding no hint of acknowledgement in the other's expression. The agents waited for an order, yet the president continued to study the opposite man's mask.

And then it appeared.

Starting at edges of his mouth, it pulled the governor's lips up, tied them against the creases in his cheeks, and beat his face into that unfortunate array.

There it was. That unmistakable grin.

"No," the president hurriedly said, "No problem."

As the agents began to make their way around the governor, and nodded for the president to follow suit, Governor Romney's eyes stayed fixated on those of his counterpart. President Obama lingered, returning the stare, until the other man's lips parted to mouth two words.

Pleading words.

President Obama heard a ringing in his ears, as the hallway narrowed to a pinhole, and the lights cast a dizzying, white haze across his vision. The impossibility, coupled with shock, was pounding against the springs in his head.

The governor extended a hand once again. The president's bodyguards, now alerted to the bewildered expression on his face, moved to intercept the hand that now reached out toward him.

The command came; deep, and halting.

"No."

Pause.

The guards watched on as the president, immobile, stared at the governor's hand, hanging in space. The fingers cricked, knuckles bending, in a silent beckon.

The president then raised his own hand and stretched it forward, bridging the gap between their two forms. Their fingertips met for a moment before they slid past each other, gliding down the skin, until their hands were interlocked.

"No," the president breathed. His guards seemed to wilt back into the floor, speechless.

"Leave us."

The two men turned away from the group, hands clasped tightly, and without another word to the onlookers, they strode in unison down the hall. The door to a small storage closet stood ajar along the right wall, and with a reassuring glance from the side of his eyes, the governor ushered the president into the space, who still held, in the other hand, a full bottle of water.

The door clicked quietly behind them, and in the aghast silence that accompanied that act, nobody could deny hearing the muffled sounds that followed. A plastic cap breaking. Fabric torn and crumpled. A form pushed against the wall.

And water. Rippling across the contours of two entwined bodies.


End file.
